


my push and my shove

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Crossdressing, F/M, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Threesome - F/M/M, service sub anakin skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: There wasn't much Anakin wouldn't do to make Padmé and Obi-Wan happy.





	my push and my shove

Anakin resisted the first time Padmé tried to paint his face—too many memories of the brothel slaves of Mos Espa crowded his mind, even though he knew she didn't see him as a thing to be used and thrown away. Until the Temple, they’d been his only education about sex and most of that was absorbing their quiet despair as his mother played nurse or midwife in the cool dark of their quarters. 

The Jedi version of sex education had been useless and scarring in other ways, all abstract talk about consent and bodily autonomy and attending to the needs of the flesh as if it were routine speeder maintenance instead of a way to show someone how much you loved them. Unsurprisingly, they were also silent on the topic of letting said loved one paint you up like a Twi'lek dancing girl. 

But there wasn't much he wouldn't do to make Padmé smile at him and so he submitted to her laughing yet tender ministrations and found himself shocked by the results when she finally let him look in a mirror. He could already tell it wasn't gong to be _bad_ —his sense of her in the Force had told him when she'd shifted from playful to aroused, which in turn aroused him, but he hadn't expected to see someone beautiful looking back at him. _She_ was the beautiful one. He knew he wasn't bad looking, but he was just himself. And yet…

She climbed into his lap, fierce and blazing with desire, and rode him until they both exploded into ecstasy. He was surprised, vaguely, that the little bench hadn't collapsed beneath them.

Afterward, lying in bed, he traced the marks he'd left on her body—the perfect pink imprint of his lips on her breastbone, the smudges of pink trailing down her belly and between her thighs, bright and waxy along the hollows of her ankles. It stoked the fierce ache of possession that tightened his chest, and made him slightly less upset about the bruises on her hip, where he'd gripped too hard with his new durasteel hand. He spent some time fine-tuning its pressure sensors after she fell asleep. He never wanted to hurt her, even though her eyes had lit with secret pleasure and her mouth had curved in a smug smile when he'd pointed the bruises out to her.

It escalated from there—things between them always did. The next time he was able to visit her, she'd stripped off her black lacy underwear and demanded he put them on. 

He'd balked at first. "They're not going to fit. I don't want to ruin them."

"I've got more," she replied, grinning up at him impishly. She ran a hand down his bare chest, making him shiver. "Now come on, put them on."

So he did. They were soft and a little scratchy and he was definitely not a fan of the thong in the back, but they were also stretchy enough to fit over his hipbones, and the material that came in contact with his dick was _wet_. 

"Oh," he breathed. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

Her grin turned predatory as she stalked around him, taking in the view from all angles. "A while now," she admitted. 

The panties trapped his rapidly hardening dick against his belly, the tip starting to slick with pre-come, and he almost lost it then and then when she went to her knees to lick at it like she was licking an ice pop.

"Padmé!" The groan was torn from his throat and he flailed for a few seconds, not sure where to put his hands. He was only allowed to pull her hair when she told him to and he didn't want to break the rule.

She tugged the lace down so she could have full access, and shot him a saucy glance up under her lashes. "I want you to make a mess," she said, and took him back into her mouth.

He threaded his fingers through her hair and called on the Force just enough to keep his balance as white hot pleasure sparked through him.

After that, she'd sometimes send him back to the Temple with her satin and lace panties on under his robes, the illicit thrill of it almost as heady as the look in her eyes whenever he wore them for her.

He hadn't shown Obi-Wan. By that point, Anakin had revealed many of his secrets to Obi-Wan, but the change in their relationship was so new, and still, to Anakin's mind, so fragile, that he didn't want to scare Obi-Wan off. Contrary to Temple gossip, it had been hard enough to convince Obi-Wan to have sex with him—he hadn't even tried until he'd been knighted, knowing Obi-Wan would have rebuffed him then and ruined everything—let alone join him in Padmé's bed after she'd asked. She'd wanted to watch them together, and at first both Anakin and Obi-Wan had been hesitant, but it felt so _good_ to let her see what they could do, what they could _be_ together, that they both soon lost any lingering self-consciousness. Anakin jerked off sometimes to the memory of Padmé watching them and touching herself. 

Still, he wasn't sure how much more he could push before he pushed Obi-Wan right out of their bed.

And he couldn't have that. He needed Obi-Wan as much as he needed Padmé, and in many of the same ways. Obi-Wan pretended that it was just sex, burning off adrenaline after a hard battle or whiling away the downtime in hyperspace, but Anakin could _feel_ just how much Obi-Wan loved him when he was buried deep inside him and calling him a good boy. Obi-Wan didn't give him the words much elsewhere, so Anakin had to take them where he could.

But today, Obi-Wan was stuck in a Council meeting and he wouldn't be able to join them for hours, so Anakin sat happily at Padmé's vanity and let her line his eyes in black kohl and paint his lips a dark and luscious pink.

"I got you a present," she said when she was done, a teasing smile on her lips as she produced a scrap of fabric from a pocket in her dressing gown. 

He slid the panties gently up his legs. The silk was cool against his skin until she warmed it with her hands and her mouth. She'd just eased the waistband down to ease his cock out when Obi-Wan appeared in the doorway, shedding his cloak.

"Hello there," he said, surprise giving way to enjoyment as he took in the view. "You look quite stunning, Anakin." He smiled under his beard and stepped forward to palm Anakin's ass approvingly. "And you as well, Padmé."

Anakin made a strangled noise that eventually resolved into the word, "Master!" and then Obi-Wan was kissing him, all teeth and tongue and beard, and he didn't have need or breath to speak.

Padmé helped Obi-Wan disrobe and removed her own dressing gown while Anakin stood between them, cock aching to be touched. He moved to take himself in hand, but Padmé gave him a reproving look and Obi-Wan said, "Anakin," in a sharp, familiar tone.

He was torn; on the one hand, he liked pushing Obi-Wan's boundaries as far as he could—the punishments were usually even better than the transgressions—but he never disobeyed Padmé when they made love. All he wanted to do when she commanded him was please her in any way she desired.

Obi-Wan and Padmé shared a glance, as if they knew what he was thinking. His cheeks flushed as he realized they probably did.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and Anakin could feel him giving way in the Force, but before he could speak, Padmé said, "No, I don't think so. On the bed now, Anakin."

Now it was his turn to share a glance with Obi-Wan, but he did as Padmé said, and arranged himself comfortably against the pillows. Then he spread his arms wide in invitation, and they joined him.

It was where he belonged, where he felt most himself—even more than in the cockpit or on the battlefield, being between the two people he loved most in the galaxy quieted down all the noise in his head and the buzzing under his skin, and put all the excess energy and endless questioning that so often got him in trouble to good use. He _liked_ following their orders here, liked not having to choose, liked being directed onto his side so they could each sling a leg over him, Padmé soft and warm against his front and Obi-Wan solid and hard at his back.

Obi-Wan worked him open with deft fingers and just enough lube to make it easy, while Padmé peppered his face and chest with kisses, her small hand curling around his cock and just holding him steady while his hips hitched with the need to move.

"Patience," Obi-Wan murmured against his neck, fingers teasing him mercilessly.

Anakin breathed in the scent of Padmé's hair, tasted the wax and black currant flavor of the lipstick on his lips, and let the Force flow through him. It carried him on wings of fire as heat and pleasure coursed through his veins.

"You make me feel so good," Padmé whispered as she guided him inside her, hot and slick around him as a silk glove.

"You're doing so well," Obi-Wan said, pushing inside him with a slow, aching thrust that drove every coherent thought out of Anakin's head.

He was nothing but motion now, the arch and bow of his body as Padmé and Obi-Wan thrusted into him, their mouths sucking kisses against his skin and each other. He tossed his head back against the crook of Obi-Wan's neck, nerve endings and the Force combining to light up the whole galaxy when Obi-Wan bit down on the place where his neck met his shoulder.

Padmé drew his hand down to rub at her clit while they moved, and she tightened around him, thighs quivering and breath gasping as she came. Obi-Wan fucked him through it and she clung to them both, her eyes closed and her mouth open in breathless bliss.

Obi-Wan was relentless and Anakin was going to come—he wanted to come, everything in him was reaching for that perfect moment of ecstasy, but he couldn't until Padmé said he could.

"Please," he managed, one hand clutching desperately at her hip, before Obi-Wan captured his mouth in a fierce kiss.

"Come for me, Ani," Padmé demanded and he did, spilling himself deep inside her as everything went white behind his eyes. Obi-Wan followed him, gasping into his mouth as he came, his hands gripping Anakin's hips and tearing the silk that still lingered there.

They kissed and petted him for a while, too languid with satisfaction to disentangle just yet. 

"You're so good to me," Padme murmured and Obi-Wan echoed her both with words and in the Force. 

Anakin felt suffused with love and pride and possession. He was theirs and they were his and everything was right with the galaxy.

end

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Be My Thrill" by the Weepies.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] my push and my shove](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20041453) by [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins)




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